


The Stranger

by themonkeycabal



Series: Run 'Verse [19]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, OCs - Freeform, outsider pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 09:54:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8051815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themonkeycabal/pseuds/themonkeycabal
Summary: Bucky's first visit to Brooklyn.





	The Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> I'm stuck moving forward for some reason, so I guess I'll just be going back and filling in some blanks until I can move on. 
> 
> This one starts after Chapter 2 of "Ain't Gonna Drown" and ends between "Start a War" and "Lexington & Concord".

LaTroy set out the tray of sandwich rolls and wiped his hands on his apron. The deli was empty, a little bubble of calm between the late breakfast folks and the early lunch-goers. In about fifteen minutes the rush would start again, and he took a moment to prepare himself. Glancing out the front window, he sighed at the gray, overcast skies. It might be pissing down rain in fifteen minutes, that would cut into the lunch crowd.

As he started to turn back to his prep, a man caught his eye. He was standing outside, back away from the windows a bit, looking up at the apartments above. The guy had a rough look about him. But, he wasn't doing anything. Just standing there, staring.

Frowning, LaTroy rubbed at his jaw and considered him. He was young, maybe in his late twenties, early thirties. Hard to tell past the scruff and lank hair almost to his shoulders. Old clothes, worn jeans, dark hoodie, beat up army jacket, and a frayed cap on his head. Homeless maybe. The economy the way it was, the hits the city'd taken recently, things were tough for a lot of people.

LaTroy didn't have any beef with the homeless. Most were okay, and he'd tell them to go round the back, he'd pass out the day old bread and sandwiches after lunch. Had a couple regulars. They repaid him by keeping an eye out for trouble.

But they weren't all what you'd call stable. He'd had a few who were a little scary, off their meds, or shaking while they went looking for a fix. Those he'd have to chase away. And if they were hanging out in front of the shop, that would cut into business. Plus, he didn't like seeing people get hassled on his sidewalk.

Or the guy could be something else. Casing the apartments? Doing a bad job of it if he was. Or maybe it was something worse. He felt his shoulders tense up at that thought. Everybody was still a little spooked by that whole Hydra thing over the summer. Most of the news were focused on what happened in DC, but some of that landed in Manhattan, too. He watched the news that day.

LaTroy firmed up his jaw, and pulled out the baseball bat he kept under the counter. He didn't take it with him, but he leaned it against the edge of the counter, there for a quick grab if he needed it. Sadly, he'd needed it a time or two before.

"Sylvie?" he called. "I'm out front if you need me."

His wife stuck her head out the swinging door to the kitchen and he watched her eyes drift past him out the window. "Problem?"

"Nah, baby. I don't think so."

"You want me to get Dante?"

LaTroy scowled. Their son was 6'3" and a bruiser, but gentle as a kitten. Still, sometimes his size was enough to defuse a situation. But, this wasn't a situation he wanted his son to get used to. The boy was only sixteen. No sense getting him in any of that. "I can handle this guy. Besides, Dante's home sick, but if he's well enough to be up, then he oughta be studying instead."

"Oh, let him rest. He just started back to school," Sylvie said, laughing at him.

"And he oughta be studying." He tipped his head meaningfully at her then spun on his heel and stepped out on to the sidewalk.

Taking a minute to breathe in the city around him, LaTroy let himself relax before his approach. The air wasn't much, really, exhaust, garbage, a few unnamed scents, but he was starting to catch a hint of autumn. It was fresher, maybe, a little lighter than the heavy thickness of summer. With the threatened storm, the wind picked up and there was a cool bite in it. That felt nice.

When he let out the breath, he glanced over at the man who was watching him now. Blue eyes fixed on his movements in a weighty look. LaTroy knew when he was being sized up. He might not be 6'3", but he was a hair over six foot and even in his fighting prime he tipped the scales at 230. He'd played linebacker on his college football team, and prided himself on how hard he could hit. Then he joined the army and spent five years building himself into the meanest son of a bitch on any battlefield. And maybe he was only a couple years shy of fifty, but he still worked out.

He knew how to size somebody else up, too. And he saw enough to say the man watching him wasn't some junkie, or a guy down on his luck. No, this was another mean son of a bitch.

LaTroy nodded to him. Respect to respect. The man didn't move, just watched.

"Hey, man. You waiting for somebody?"

The man blinked then glanced away to the pavement. He didn't say anything. After a moment, his eyes lifted and scanned up the side of the building again. "Just looking," he said in a quiet, rough voice.

"For anything in particular?" LaTroy asked, trying for casual, and drifting closer to the man. That earned a sharp look, and LaTroy gave him his broadest grin. "It's about lunchtime, you wanna come in for a sandwich? Or my wife makes the best minestrone soup in the whole damned city."

The man was silent again, but his eyes were alive. Darting out to the street, back up to the building, then back to LaTroy. "No."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." The man shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket and he hunched his shoulders up.

"Looks like maybe it's going to rain," LaTroy tried again nodding at the dark sliver of cloud above them.

"Maybe."

The sky did him a favor then, spitting a few fat raindrops onto the sidewalk. "There, you see? Man, come on in. Have something hot."

"No."

LaTroy crossed his arms over his chest, trying to make a point, and let his face fall into a hard frown. "What're you doing here, guy?"

The man heaved a sigh and glanced upward once more then turned away to face the street. "Grew up here."

LaTroy'd been in the building for twenty years, since he got out of the army, just after he and Sylvie got married. This guy might have been one of the dozens of kids he'd known through the years. That put a different spin on things and he let his arms drop. "Is that so? Whose kid are you? I been here a while myself."

"Doesn't matter," the guy muttered. "It was a long time ago."

LaTroy looked closely at the side of the man's face, trying to place it with any of the families who'd lived there. "You Walt Milton's kid?"

Walt Milton was a damned viking, looked like, but his wife was Mediterranean of some sort. Greek maybe? LaTroy didn't exactly remember. Sylvie'd know. They had two boys; one favored his dad, the other his mother. This might be the older one. He thought maybe the jaw line was about right. What was his name? Kirk? Kyle? Craig? Damn, something like that. They'd moved a dozen years before when Walt got a job out west. The ages might have matched. The boy had been in high school then.

"No." The man's jaw worked, the muscles bunching and he looked down again. "It was before you were here."

With a laugh, LaTroy shook his head. "You'd'a been pretty young when you left, then."

"Feels like it."

LaTroy nodded slowly. He felt a little better about the guy, but not entirely. This was a dangerous man. But, was he dangerous to them? Or only generally dangerous? "Name's LaTroy," he said, sticking out his hand.

The man stared at him for another long moment. Damn, it was like trying to wash a cat, getting this guy to talk. Still, LaTroy didn't drop his hand until those wild, watching eyes flickered and then the man took the offered hand in a brief grasp. "James."

"James. Nice to meet you." LaTroy drew his hand back and stepped under the awning of his shop front as the rain started to come down a little more. "Come on inside, James. We're old neighbors."

"Not really."

"Come on, man," he pleaded, trying to coax James in, trying to be a friendly face and sort out the trouble here. "My wife's gonna wonder what we doing standing out here in the rain."

"I'll go," James muttered and hiked his jacket up.

And as much as he'd wanted the guy to move on just a few minutes ago, now LaTroy wanted to hold him there a minute longer. Something wasn't right. But, it was more like something wasn't right with this guy. He looked lost. "You just doing a tour of the old neighborhood? How long you been away?"

"Long time."

That wasn't much of an answer. He tried again. "Where'd you go?"

James took a long slow breath and watched him out of the corner of his eyes. It was on the tip of his tongue to say something, but LaTroy held himself quiet, he had a feeling this was a guy you had to wait out.

"Army."

"Oh yeah?" LaTroy felt his grin broaden and his eyes lit with interest. Common ground. Maybe even common ground the guy would talk about. Old times in the neighborhood didn't seem to be working. "Me, too. 75th Rangers. You?"

Closing his eyes, the guy shrugged. "107th. Sergeant."

107th? Boy, you didn't run into 107th guys very often. That was an old group. Famous after the Howling Commandos in WWII. They were a small, tight, special operations regiment now. Damn, he couldn't remember where they were based. Germany, maybe? "Nice to meet you, Sergeant. Now, you gonna come in and get some soup before my wife comes yells at us both?"

"No."

LaTroy sighed and let his shoulders drop. "Alright. You gonna stand in front of my deli all day?"

Something like a smile ticked up the man's lips. "No. I'm done."

"You find what you were looking for?"

"I don't know."

The guy was an army vet, and it looked like he'd had a hard war. LaTroy did okay when he got out, but he knew guys who didn't get so lucky. "Hey, man, let me get you a sandwich, on the house. I'm always happy to spot a fellow Army guy a meal."

That seemed to surprise James and he turned to look fully at LaTroy. His eyes were still measuring, evaluating, but they didn't look quite so tense, quite so spooked. "I'm not hungry. But … thanks."

"Sure." Damn. He didn't entirely like letting James walk away without knowing what was going on in that guy's head. Except, now, LaTroy had a pretty good idea he wasn't a threat. Just a guy looking for who he used to be. "Well, I'll let you get back on your tour then. But, you decide the rain gets too much and you're hungry, come on by. The offer of the sandwich stands."

James stared at him for a few seconds too long to be comfortable, but then he nodded and turned, walking off down the street. LaTroy let out a long breath and shook his head before going back inside.

"Who was that?" Sylvie asked, leaning against the counter next to the baseball bat.

"Said his name was James. He grew up here. Long time ago, he said," LaTroy laughed. "I was thinking maybe he was Walt Milton's kid. What was his name? Kevin?"

Sylvie rolled her eyes. "Gabriel."

"What? No, it was Kyle or something?"

"No, honey, it was Gabe. And the other one was Walt Jr."

LaTroy frowned and circled the counter to start slicing meat for the lunch crowd. "Really?"

"Really." She jerked her chin at the window and pulled out the bread knife. "What did he want?"

"He was just looking at the old place, I guess." LaTroy picked up the ham and put it on the slicer. "Army guy. Had _that_ look in his eye. Thousand yard stare. Tried to get him to come in. Nothing doing."

Sylvie patted his cheek; she knew he was a softy for vets. "Well, you gave him a friendly chat and a place to come if he wants."

"Guess so," he muttered back and started slicing. He took a quick glance out the window, wondering if maybe James would change his mind. But, the lunch crowd came and went and the thought left his mind. He didn't think the meeting through again until that night in bed, with the hard patter of the driving rain on the windows. Well, wherever James ended up, he hoped it was out of the weather. No good being out on a night like this.

***

LaTroy didn't think about James much over the next few months. Just once, really, when another old neighbor dropped by for a visit, bringing her now teenaged daughter. And even then it was only to remember the brief meeting and a second of wondering what happened to that guy.

But in March, James came to mind again. LaTroy was at the library with his son, helping him prepare for a history paper. As they wandered through the stacks, he and Dante picked up a few interesting books, then his hand came to rest on one about the 107th and the Howling Commandos.

"The paper's on World War One, dad," Dante laughed at him. "Keep moving, old man."

"Don't you give me lip," he grumbled absently and picked up the book. Dante gave up on him and took his stack over to a nearby table.

LaTroy pulled the book and turned it in his hand while he wondered about that weird guy he met back in the autumn. Then he flipped open the cover, scanning through the pages. Where was James now? Hadn't seen hide nor hair of him since. He never did come round for his sandwich.

In the middle of the book were pages of thick paper, photographs of men in the 107th through the war years. In the very middle, a group shot spread across both pages. Captain America, Steve Rogers, stood smiling uncomfortably in the middle of the group. And on his left … James "Bucky" Barnes. LaTroy sucked in a sharp breath. Nah, nah, that couldn't be. Sure Cap was back, but … nah, couldn't be. Except this fellow looked exactly like the James he met. Cleaner cut, sure, but if LaTroy imagined the man in this picture with longer hair and haunted eyes, the resemblance was uncanny.

LaTroy flipped through a few more pages, and found a picture of Barnes by himself, the caption underneath noting he was the only Howling Commando to give his life during the war. He fell during the capture of a Hydra scientist. LaTroy put his hand over the picture, covering the top of Barnes's head, so he could focus on the eyes, and … damn. Damn.

"Hey dad? Pops." Dante tapped him on the shoulder. "I think I've got everything. What're you looking at?"

"Nothing," LaTroy said, shaking himself. He shut the book and tucked it under his arm. "You got the books you need?"

"Yeah." Dante was giving him a puzzled look and LaTroy forced a smile.

"Well, let's check out," he said with a friendly clap on his son's shoulder.

"You're getting that book?"

"Sure. Why not? I like history."

Dante snorted skeptically, but picked up his stack and followed LaTroy to the front desk.

He read the book that night, the whole thing. Even ignoring his wife when she tried to get him to go to bed, warning him about the early morning they'd have.

The book covered most of the Commandos, even those who hadn't technically been US Army, but they all got folded into the SSR. Barnes figured pretty prominently, too. From his enlistment to his 'death', and his posthumous award of a Distinguished Service Cross. Heck, all those guys, if they'd worn all their medals, would've had them down to their knees. But, only Cap got a higher award, his own posthumous Medal of Honor.

One thing was clear, Bucky Barnes hadn't left any kids. He had a sister who had a couple kids, and then they might've had kids, he supposed. Maybe the guy was one of them? Named James after his great uncle or something. That happened, sure enough.

Except, as he lay in bed that night, not sleeping, LaTroy couldn't shake the feeling that he'd met Bucky Barnes. The real Bucky Barnes. The things he said, the very few things he said, didn't add up. LaTroy'd lived in the building for twenty years, James insisted he lived there before even that. James wasn't old enough to look that haunted by the memory of a place if he'd left when he was ten or eleven. And LaTroy knew Steve Rogers was from around the neighborhood, hell, everybody in the neighborhood knew that. Though, the building he'd grown up in was torn down in the 60s. But, anyway, everybody also knew the Rogers and Barnes had been best friends since they were kids, which meant Barnes was from around here, too.

LaTroy got through the next day with the help of a gallon of coffee. When Dante got home from school, he put him behind the deli counter and said he had to run an errand. Curious now, he was on a mission, and his curiosity took him back to the library. Digging into the local historical records, he found census records of the Barnes family. And there they were, living on the third story of LaTroy's building. The place had been renovated three times since he would have lived there, opening up the old tenement apartments into rooms more comfortable, but the address didn't lie.

In the digital archives of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle he found a memorial article and obituary for fallen Brooklyn son James Buchanan Barnes. Another picture accompanied the article, grainier, but looking at it LaTroy still got goosebumps over his skin. That was James.

Well, shit. How'd that happen? How'd he survive? Cap was one in a million, everybody thought. What were the odds it was both of them? But, Cap was experimented on, Barnes wasn't. Or was he? Some other secret project? There was no whiff of it in the book he'd read. Pushing back from the computer, LaTroy stalked back to the shelf he'd got the first book. He scanned over the titles until he found one on Project: Rebirth. Nobody knew a lot about the project, mostly it was still classified and there were rumors people'd tried to replicate it and ended up with things like the Hulk for their efforts. Nobody'd hit the right formula that made Cap.

Grabbing up the book, he found a chair and spent a couple hours going through it. Not one mention of Barnes anywhere. Huh.

His phone buzzed with a text from his wife, wondering where he was. With a sigh he re-shelved the book and headed home.

LaTroy let the issue rest for a few days. It's not like he could do anything for the guy if it was Bucky Barnes. He had no idea where he was, or what sort of place his head was like. On the wild ass off chance LaTroy somehow tracked him down, what did he say? _Hey, man, how's it going_? Nah.

Still, he just wanted to know how. So, over the weekend, he borrowed his son's computer and searched what he could. The only hint he found about what might've happened was an article on a site he'd never heard of speculating that the man who'd attacked SHIELD HQ in DC was Bucky Barnes. Somehow he was Hydra. How'd that make sense? _Bullshit_.

LaTroy snapped the laptop closed and glared at it sourly. Nah, nah, he wasn't going to believe that.

And that's where the matter died. Until a day towards the end of May.

LaTroy was cleaning up after the lunch rush, and he glanced out the front window. There was James, standing there just like he did that one time before. Even his clothes looked the same. Maybe newer, cleaner, but the same outfit. But this time he wasn't alone. Next to him was a pretty, curvy brunette. She had her hands shoved in her pockets against an unseasonably bracing wind and was talking to him while he looked up at the building.

LaTroy scrambled around the side of the counter, hastily wiping his hands on a dishtowel. He stepped outside and grinned as James's eyes dropped to him. They were still evaluating but less distant.

"James," he greeted with booming good cheer. "Good to see you again, man."

James — _well, hey, let's call him who he is_ , LaTroy thought to himself — Bucky stared for a moment then nodded. "Hi."

The girl looked startled at the greeting and she cast her own evaluating look at LaTroy, but her eyes were warmer and her mouth lifted into a smile. She turned to Bucky and tapped the back of one hand against his stomach. "You didn't tell me you had a friend."

"I've got friends," he grumbled reflexively and the girl laughed.

"Yeah, all two of us. Or three of us, I guess." She turned back to LaTroy and held out her hand. "I'm Darcy."

"LaTroy," he said, giving her hand a firm shake and grinning at her. Well, damn, he had a friend. A real pretty friend. Good for you, Bucky. But, did she know who he was? She'd have to, right? Would she? Boy, if he was this confused, how confusing was it for Bucky?

"Now, this one," LaTroy continued, pulling himself out of his thoughts and jerking his thumb at Bucky, "he comes haunting my stoop for an afternoon, but won't take a man up on lunch. Just about hurt my feelings, you know what I'm saying?"

"His manners, I swear," Darcy said with a smirk.

Bucky grumbled again, but wordlessly, and he glanced up at the building one more time.

"You want your sandwich now, James?" LaTroy asked and Bucky dropped his eyes and sighed.

"Forget him," Darcy put in. "I'm starving."

"Well, come on in. Bring that one."

Bucky didn't move, but LaTroy remembered how hard it was to get him to even talk before, and how you had to wait him out. LaTroy moved on ahead, trusting he'd make up his mind in a minute or two. He was through the door when he heard the girl say, low and quiet, "Come on, Buck. No joke, I'm seriously hungry. This place looks good."

"I don't think he's got a whole cow for you," Bucky said with a little laugh.

"I'll manage," she assured him and followed LaTroy in.

And with that little exchange, a lot of the questions LaTroy had were answered. Not the how or the why, but it put to rest any lingering doubt that was really Bucky Barnes. That was a hell of a hard war, for sure. Then lost for decades? No wonder he looked like he was seeing ghosts when he was here last. Poor bastard.

Darcy leaned against the counter studying the menu board.

"Soup's good," LaTroy told her. "My wife makes it every day. Best you'll find."

"Excellent. I'll get a cup of the minestrone and a half turkey on rye." She turned to Bucky and nudged him. "What do you want?"

"I don't know," he said quietly as his eyes scanned the board. They were still a little jumpy, but not as wild, LaTroy was happy to see. Guy'd come a-ways in a few months. Good.

Darcy clearly knew the 'wait him out' trick and she was silent as Bucky decided. She took out her phone and thumbed through something on it, then sighed.

"What?" Bucky asked.

"Gloria's got another place for us to look at."

"Where?"

"Gowanus?"

Bucky grunted and looked back up at the menu. "I'll have a corned beef, rye, tomato, swiss, mustard."

"You got it, guy," LaTroy said and started making their lunch. He nodded back at Darcy. "He told me last time he was from around here, so he's giving you the tour?"

"Not intentionally," Darcy told him with a snort. "We're real estate hunting. Which sucks."

"We've only been doing it a few weeks," Bucky muttered, but there was a small smile on his face.

"And it sucks." She grabbed his shoulder and gave it a little shake. "You know it has totally sucked."

"Only that one time." He shook his head at her. "You just gotta be more patient."

"I'm bad at patient," she said, letting go of his shoulder and crossing her arms petulantly.

"That's a lie," he told her with an amused, knowing look.

She accepted that with a sideways tilt and bob of her head. "Mostly I'm bad at patient."

Bucky shrugged. "Guess that's true."

Darcy's phone rang and she looked at the screen and let out a louder, gustier sigh. "It's my dad. I'll be back." She didn't wait for a response and headed out front. LaTroy and Bucky watched her gesture at the street and then the sky and wave one arm around in a wide arc. Bucky laughed. Quietly, sure, but definitely a laugh. LaTroy heard it.

"You ever find what you were looking for?" he asked Bucky, glancing up from spreading mustard on the bread.

Caught out, the man looked away from the windows. "I don't know."

"Well, you seem happier today, Sergeant."

Bucky's shoulder's tensed and his jaw went hard for a second, but then he let out a breath and nodded. "Guess I am."

"That's something."

"Yeah."

"Got yourself a nice friend." LaTroy jerked his head at the door.

"Stubborn," Bucky said under his breath.

LaTroy laughed. "Oh, those are the best ones. My wife …" he let out a whoosh of breath and shook his head. "Nobody out-stubborns that woman. Wouldn't want her any other way. Keeps me honest, and life isn't boring."

"Suppose so."

Nodding, LaTroy kept working and tried to get himself to not say anything. Didn't want to spook the guy. But … but this man was a hero. Whatever else, he'd been a hero. And LaTroy wanted him to know somebody knew that. Whatever he'd been through, he deserved to know that much. "Don't take this wrong, man, but a couple months ago, I was in the library with my son. I found a history book. Saw your picture in it."

Bucky went still. LaTroy couldn't even hear him breathing. When he looked back up that wild look was back in the man's eyes as they scanned the deli, the door, the back towards the kitchen.

"Relax, buddy," LaTroy said quietly. "I didn't tell anybody. I won't. I just wanted to say thank you."

Now he could hear the man breathing, and it was a harsh sound in the room. "For what?"

"For your service. Hasn't anybody done that?"

"No," he replied shortly, his jaw tense again.

LaTroy felt his nostrils flare, pressed his lips together tight, and took a second to breathe through his irritation at that. "Well, I'm saying it. And you're welcome here, man. You're always welcome," LaTroy continued. "Nobody's gonna give you trouble here. One old vet to another. You're okay here."

"Thanks," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Figuring it was time to change the subject, get back to business and let Bucky process that, LaTroy nodded to the cold case. "You want a soda pop?"

Bucky shrugged. "Coke?"

LaTroy waved to the half dozen tables on the other side of the shop. "Go have a seat then, I'll bring your lunch round."

"How much?" he asked, reaching for his wallet.

"Man, I said on the house," LaTroy huffed. "You don't pay here."

"What about her?" Bucky jerked his thumb at his girl still talking, pacing, and gesturing on the sidewalk.

"Nope, your friend's money isn't any good, either." LaTroy put down his knife and braced his hands on the prep board, leaning over towards Bucky. "I don't know where you've been. I don't know what you've been doing. But, I—"

"Nothing good," he interupted, looking down.

LaTroy rolled his eyes and picked up his knife, pointing it to the tables. "James, shut up and go sit your butt down."

That drew a small smile from the man and he nodded. "Yes, sir."

Darcy came back into the shop after a couple minutes and dropped into a seat across from Bucky.

"What'd your pops want?" he asked.

"To argue with me about my suit. He doesn't like the colors I picked. I'm like 'dad, suck it up and deal'."

LaTroy brought their lunch around in time to catch the amused smile from the old soldier. "How'd he take that?"

"Did you miss the part about the arguing?" she asked pointedly, then grinned up at LaTroy as he set a basket and her cup of soup in front of her. "This smells fantastic. Thank you."

"Sure thing. You two enjoy. Let me know if you need anything."

LaTroy gave them as much space as he could in the deli, and they ate and talked. Well, mostly the woman talked, but Bucky listened to everything she had to say. They hung around for close to an hour until her phone went off again and she rolled her eyes once more. "Gloria. Again. She says we've really gotta see it. It's perfect. We'll love it. Twenty exclamation points. And a random question mark. But, I think her finger just slipped."

Bucky laughed. "Alright, doll. Let's hit the bricks."

LaTroy was with another customer as they walked out, but Darcy paused at the door to call out. "Tell your wife her soup was amazing. I will totally give you the best yelp review." She turned to address the woman at the counter. "If you haven't had the minestrone, you have to try it. A-plus."

"I'll tell her, ma'am," LaTroy assured her with a laugh. "You both have a nice day." Then he nodded at Bucky. "Sergeant."

Darcy's eyebrows shot up at that and her eyes narrowed at LaTroy, but Bucky just nodded back. "Thanks." Then he herded his girl out the door, despite her indignant squawk.

He watched them on the sidewalk for a moment. Bickering looked like. He guessed Darcy liked a good war of words. Probably good at it, too. Just like Sylvie. He laughed and turned back to his customer (who ordered the minestrone). Later he had his son tell him what Yelp was and looked up their reviews — apparently Dante kept an eye on them — and sure enough a Darcy L. left them a glowing review.

He told his wife that that old vet James turned up again and got his sandwich. It was pretty clear she didn't remember who he was talking about; it was one meeting months ago, after all. But, she patted him on the back and kissed his cheek and told him it was a reward for his good heart.

That night LaTroy went to bed and didn't wonder where the guy was. Wherever he was, somebody was looking out for him. That meant a lot in this world. He didn't know if he'd look up some day and see Barnes standing at his window again, but he kind of hoped he would. Maybe in better days when the man was more inclined to smile. He hoped he'd find his way out of the shadows and come on back as a friend. Maybe he'd bring Cap around; back to the old neighborhood.

It'd be awful nice to have them both come home. Seemed only right.


End file.
